Post mort
by duj
Summary: Complete, AU since HBP. How long Hermione lay there grieving she didn't know, nor did she notice when she first felt a heart thudding under her cheek and arms reaching to hold her... Then a familiar voice said the unthinkable. SSHG, character death
1. From the Dead

FROM THE DEAD

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers, character death. BTW, the title is meant to read "Post-mort" but ffnet won't allow the hyphen.**

The letter took Hermione by surprise. It was the morning after the NEWTs and she was deep in study of "Dirt and Diplomacy; A History of the Ministry of Magic", her curly hair caught in a butterfly clip at the nape and a slice of cold unbuttered toast in her free hand.

She didn't look up when the post-owls came and didn't notice the tawny owl hovering over her until Ron called it to her attention just as it released its burden with a plop into her porridge. She startled then and dropped her toast but her dependable index finger kept her place in chapter 14, "Gasmasks and Grindelwald". The owl gave a disgusted hooo-hoo-hooo and flew away.

Hermione fished out the letter, tapping it on the side of the bowl and wiping it one-handed on her napkin. She laid it down unopened and turned back to the absorbing account of the policy discussions between then-Minister of Magic Blunkett-Smythe and his Muggle counterpart.

"Aren't you going to look at it?" Ron demanded. "It might be important."

"I don't see how it could be," Hermione shrugged. "It's too early to be NEWTs results or offers. Besides it's obviously not a Ministry envelope. I'll get to it later."

"Aren't you even curious who it's from?"

Hermione sighed. She might as well look now as after ten minutes of nagging. That way she'd get back to her reading quicker. She picked up the envelope and turned it over. The address was written in a spiky black scrawl. Her eyes narrowed under a suddenly furrowed brow and her voice was incredulous.

"That's odd. If I didn't know better I'd say it was Professor Snape's handwriting."

Harry laughed.

"Don't say he's come back from the dead to take off more house points."

For once they wouldn't need a last-minute points infusion by Dumbledore to win the cup. They were comfortably 140 points ahead of Ravenclaw and another 13 over Hufflepuff. Slytherin had lost heart after Snape's death.

"That'd be just his style, wouldn't it?" Ron joked. "Giving detentions from beyond the grave." He drew out the last word in a deep low sing-song that spread the laughter to their neighbours.

Hermione frowned at both of them.

"Honestly, you two! Can't you give him at least a little respect after the way he died?"

He'd been cut down in the first assault against Hogsmeade seven months ago fighting off a dozen Death Eaters in an almost successful attempt to get a mixed group of students to the safety of Honeydukes. The last three students had seen him fall, head split open and blood spurting from his thigh, but his body had never been recovered. Malcolm Baddock had been the only other loss.

"Doesn't change the fact he was the nastiest teacher the school's ever had," Ron sniped.

"Oh, as if you'd know!" Hermione was incensed. "According to 'Hogwarts; a History' he wasn't even in the top ten!"

"Bet that was a major disappointment," Dean smirked to a chorus of sniggers.

"Yeah, he certainly tried hard enough," Ginny agreed.

Hermione humphed and studied the letter more closely. It was certainly for her. The address was "Miss H Granger, after her NEWTs". She turned it over but there were no other markings. Come to think of it, that sounded rather strange. She could almost imagine it had been written some time ago and purposely kept back.

She laid her book face down on her lap to keep the place and applied both hands to tearing open the letter. One quick glance turned her pale and shaking. Her book slid unheeded to the floor as she jumped up from her chair.

"I don't believe this!" she cried, crumpling the letter and throwing it down.

It wafted slowly to the floor to land not quite touching her book. Her fiery glance swept the table.

"Ron, if this is one of your brothers' pranks -" she huffed and dashed her hand across her eyes, "When I find out who thought this up I'll hex their ears to their eyelids!"

There was a momentary silence of incomprehension as she spun on her heel and dashed out of the Hall. Ginny stood up with a patient sigh.

"I told her she was studying too hard," she muttered, ignoring her brother's interjection that they'd all told her that. "Never mind. I'll go after her. She'll want her book back when she calms down."

She bent to pick up the letter, smoothing it and folding it twice before replacing it in its envelope. If she froze curiously still for a moment no one noticed. None saw the widening of disbelieving eyes or the hard gulping of her throat. As she slipped the envelope between two random pages of the book and stood to leave Ron turned to Dean and shrugged.

"Girls!" he said.

**A/N Please don't panic.**


	2. FellowFeeling

FELLOW FEELING

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers. Thanks to all my reviewers.**

Ginny found Hermione sitting on her bed hugging a pillow. Her face was blotchy and her eyes red and swollen. The butterfly clip lay abandoned on the floor where it had fallen and the brown hair frizzed out like a thorn-bush.

"Did anyone read it?" the older girl asked in a flat dull voice. She flinched a little as Ginny put the book and enclosed letter on the bed near her. Mouth twitching she stared at the little pile as if a poisonous snake lay coiled and ready to strike.

"Only me. Sorry, I couldn't help seeing it when I picked it up," Ginny apologised.

Hermione nodded and trailed a trembling finger along the book's spine.

"It isn't true," she whispered. "It couldn't be."

Ginny smoothed the bed covers and sat down at the other end. Her glance wandered from her friend to the offending missive and back.

"It is his hand-writing," she offered. No one who'd once seen that angry scrawl knifing across a page of hopeful homework could mistake it.

"Someone must have copied it," her friend scowled. "He'd never have written – that." She spat the last word with loathing.

Ginny grimaced and said nothing. She'd have thought that too but how could they know? Snape had never let them see any of his emotions but irritation and impatience or grim gloating. His inner self had been as unreadable to his students as to the murderers he'd spied on. She let her eyes trace along the edge of the letter poking out from the book. Who'd have thought? Yet the letter's first words had left no room for doubt.

_Dear ever-dearest Hermione, _

_I wish this salutation could bring you comfort rather than distress. I apologise for the intrusion as for all our past interactions. Circumstances have forced me to treat you with a disdain as undeserved as it was unfelt. _

_If this has been sent, my expectations of disaster have proved true. I could not refuse myself this one opportunity to wish you happiness. _

_S_

"Do you mind very much?" she ventured after a long silent pause. "You liked him, didn't you? I mean, you were always defending him."

Hermione made a sound of repulsion.

"Not like that!" she cried then immediately corrected herself. "Not at all! I never liked him. Who could? I respected his courage and his intelligence; I didn't like him."

Ginny rolled a lock of red hair onto one finger then unrolled it and stuck the end into her mouth to chew on.

"He was a hero," she muttered. "As horrid as he was, we can't deny that." It felt strange to be defending the sour Potions-master to Hermione instead of the other way round.

"Are you trying to make me feel better or worse?" Hermione cried rubbing the back of her hand hard across her eyes. "Just the thought that he liked me – like that, uggh! It's disgusting! He was almost as old as my dad!"

"He couldn't help that," Ginny pointed out. Her eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. "He never – he never tried anything, did he? Said anything or – or -" Only then why had Hermione been so astonished?

The other girl blinked and shook her head, teeth clenched and eyes burning.

"No, but he must have thought about it! It makes my skin creep to think he might have been looking at me and wanting to – uggh – to kiss me or – or touch me."

She shuddered and pressed a fist to her mouth. Ginny could think of nothing to say.

"I wish he'd never told me! How could he think I'd want to know something like that?" Hermione burst out after a few seconds.

"He knew you didn't want to know. He said so. He just didn't want to," she swallowed hard, " didn't want to die without having at least said something." Ginny hadn't cried since first year but her throat ached too much to continue.

"Are you sorry for him?" Hermione sputtered incredulously. "How can you be sorry for him? You've always hated him just as much as Ron!"

Ginny's eyes were wide and dark.

"Aren't you? Not even a little bit? To feel like that and never be able to say - in fact to have to say the opposite of what he felt all the time."

Hermione gave a black scowl.

"He had no right to feel anything of the sort!"

"Feelings don't come by rights! You wouldn't understand."

"And you would?" Hermione jeered, obscurely offended by Ginny's sympathy for the wrong party.

"I suppose it's fellow-feeling." She shrugged and looking up met her friend's reproachful brown eyes. "I know what it's like to want someone you can't have."


	3. Application of Curiosity

APPLICATION OF CURIOSITY

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers. Thanks to all my reviewers. This is now officially AU since HBP but I plan to continue with sporadic updates. My opinions of one character have not changed and I think JK was merely setting us up for another startling reversal just as she did in PoA.**

Hermione straightened her shoulders and pursed her mouth.

"We still haven't checked that it's really from him." Not that either of them doubted it somehow; the language was as characteristic as the handwriting but an authenticity check couldn't hurt.

"How can we?" Ginny asked without thinking. Then she reminded herself that this was Hermione. Hermione always knew a way.

"There's a spell. It's not on the syllabus but I found it in 'Challenging Checking Charms and Chicanery for Cheeky Choosy Charmers' last year after I asked Professor Flitwick for further reading."

Of course there was a spell. Despite herself Ginny's eyes brightened. One of the best perks of being Hermione's friend was the chance to learn unusual and indispensable spells for every occasion. Harry and Ron were too thoughtless to take advantage of their opportunities but Ginny, last of a large family, had early learned the value of knowledge. The disadvantage of youthfulness could be overcome by the application of curiosity, study and secret practice.

The older girl hesitated. She really didn't want to touch the letter again but it was necessary. Reluctantly she drew it out of the book then out of the envelope and opened it to lie face-up in front of her. Ginny leaned closer.

"Ostendo scriptor," Hermione commanded, tapping the letter once with her wand then drawing a circle around it with the tip just touching the paper.

As she removed her wand a smoky tendril curled up from the centre slowly forming into a familiar lean figure, black eyes and hair and robe, face and hands even paler than usual, but the whole no more than twelve inches high.

Two sets of eyes widened. Two throats gasped and two heads, one crowned with red, one with brown, bent close to watch.

The smoke-creature sat as if at a desk though neither chair nor desk was visible. His shoulders slumped and he buried his face in his hands for a long moment before he picked up a quill, invisible likewise till it appeared in the tiny hand, and began.

As one the two girls watched him write her name and then pause again for a long time with bowed head and closed eyes. They watched the tiny Adam's apple move, the chest rise and fall with long tense breaths.

_Dear ever-dearest Hermione, _

The first sentence came fluently then. They watched the simulacrum hesitate on his apologies, pausing long over the word "intrusion" and almost as long over the next six words. He sighed and cocked his head then with a sharp nod bent once more to his work.

_I wish this salutation could bring you comfort rather than distress. I apologise for the intrusion as for all our past interactions. Circumstances have forced me to treat you with a disdain as undeserved as it was unfelt. _

"Disdain" seemed to give him almost as much trouble as "intrusion" but he continued till the end of the sentence easily enough. Then another long pause as tiny lips tightened and black eyes blinked away brightness. The watchers bit their lips. Hermione gulped and Ginny sighed.

At last the hand began its work anew. One quick fluent sentence, then a halting hesitant continuation. Only the signature remained and then it would be done.

_If this has been sent, my expectations of disaster have proved true. I could not refuse myself this one opportunity to wish you happiness. _

So thought the watchers but they were wrong. After adding his initial the smoke-man let go the quill, which disappeared as he released it, and with his forefinger traced softly, reverently, the beloved name. He folded the paper, kissed it and faded away.

There was a long fraught silence. Two pairs of cheeks flushed; two pairs of eyes turned away equally from the letter and from each other to study the wall. Ginny's hands clasped and her mouth set tight. Hermione cleared her throat.

"He shouldn't have written it if he didn't want us to see," she defended, her voice a low rasp.

Ginny reflected that if he'd known her friend at all he must have expected her both to know and to use this spell. She nodded.

"He shouldn't have written," Hermione insisted again.

The younger girl shook her head as if to clear it of cloying sentimentality. Time to be practical.

"What will you tell everyone?" she asked.

"Do I have to tell them anything?"

Ginny gave her a pitying look. She scowled back. They'd drive her mad with questions if she didn't.

"Fine, I'll just say it was from him and he couldn't resist prophesying that I was still an insufferable know-it-all. They'll believe that." Both that he would have been hateful enough to send it and that she would have run out of the room in tears upon reading it.

Ginny's mouth twisted to one side but it wasn't as if she had a better idea. Well, maybe slightly better.

"I'll tell them," she said firmly. "You just glower and refuse to talk about it at all. Or offer to hex anyone who mentions it again, that'll quiet them for good."

**A/N I used an on-line Latin-English translator to generate the spell. Yes, I know JK doesn't use real Latin but sometimes a little inspiration plugs a gap in the imagination.**


	4. Stop Screaming

STOP SCREAMING

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers. Thanks to all my reviewers. **

Varvara Skolnik paused outside Honeydukes as she always did. It was four and a half years since Professor Snape had pushed her through the door, four and a half years since she'd watched him fight off a crowd of white-masked black-robed assailants until he fell bleeding and broken to the cobblestones. Then the Desth Eaters had surrounded him and when they'd moved aside he was gone. If she closed her eyes she could still see the red fountain of his blood, still smell sweat and fear and death.

She didn't close her eyes. Resolutely she walked to the door with half a dozen other seventh years, carefully skirting the spots where he and Malcolm had fallen. It seemed too disrespectful to do otherwise. Half an hour later she followed her friends Liora and Lisbet out, laughing and arguing.

"I tell you it works," Liora insisted. "It's the latest thing. You can reverse even a permanent Transfiguration with this spell. You twist your wand like so," she demonstrated, pointing it at a curiously shaped pebble half-sunk into the ground, "and say 'Novo, novo, lasso mutatio' -"

Her voice tailed away into a scream. The pebble lengthened, twisted and stretched to a crumpled black man-sized heap. A bleeding, broken heap.

Lisbet screamed too and clutched her. Behind them some more exiting customers were having hysterics.

For one frozen moment Varvara couldn't move. Then she ran forward and fell to her knees, fumbling her wand out of her pocket and mumbling a conjuring charm. A roll of bandages and a clean towel fell beside her trembling hands as she dropped the wand and ripped open the robes covering the lean left thigh. Then she was pressing hard on a long spurting wound.

"Lisbet!" she choked, cleared her throat and began again louder. "Liora! Lisbet! Stop screaming and help me. You have to press down while I wrap. Quickly before he bleeds to death!"

Suddenly male hands were covering hers, pushing them away as they replaced them. A vaguely familiar voice said, "I've got it. Hurry!"

She couldn't spare a thought to wonder who it was or what the other onlookers were up to. She folded the towel and placed it over the wound then unrolled the bandages and began wrapping, as quickly and tightly as she could. The boy – it was a boy not a man, a fourth year Hufflepuff who'd knocked into her outside the Muggle Studies classroom once and spilled her bag all over the floor – moved his hands carefully aside for her, still pressing, still keeping the long deep gash closed.

"I hope you know what you're doing," the boy said. "Will this work?"

Gary Eldridge, she remembered suddenly, a pure-blood. No wonder he was bewildered but for someone who didn't know what he was doing he was doing a pretty good job.

"Muggle methods," she gasped. "It will hold for a bit. We need to get him to the infirmary as fast as we can though."

"Hear that?" he raised his voice to speak over the rumble of the students crowding around them, never taking his eyes or his hands off their patient. "Someone run ahead and warn Madam Granger. Someone else run into every shop and see if there's anyone skilled in Healing charms. NOW!"

Varvara gulped and kept on wrapping. It was tricky to lift the leg and get the bandages underneath. It was heavy and she was deathly afraid of dislodging her helper's hands. Then Lisbet was beside her mouth set tight and hands sliding underneath the man's thigh to raise it slightly off the ground.

"Sorry," she muttered. "I lost it for a bit."

Varvara had no energy to talk so she merely grunted to show that she'd heard. She pulled the bandages tighter and secured them. Then she rocked back on her heels and inhaled a long ragged breath.

"Is he breathing?" she gasped. "I should have checked that first but he was breathing when he fell and he'd lost so much blood already -"

"When he fell?" Gary demanded, moving nevertheless to bend over the victim's face. "He didn't fall, he just suddenly appeared out of thin air. He's breathing, all right," he added after a moment, "but his head's bleeding too. Do we bandage it?"

"Better leave it till an expert comes." Lisbet said, following him to see. "It's only seeping, he won't bleed out from that and head injuries are tricky. Just make sure he doesn't vomit and choke."

Varvara was still taking long gasping breaths and tears were running unheeded down her cheeks.

'We did it all wrong!" she breathed. "The wrong order, the wrong everything! And we need to put something under his leg to keep it raised. I hope I haven't killed him."

"Breathe!" Gary commanded, his eyes darting between the distressed girl and the unconscious man. "Don't panic now. At least you had some idea what to do. If it was left to the rest of us this chap'd be dead."

"This chap? Don't you recognise him?"Lisbet asked incredulously, her eyes widening at his blank look.She didn't realise he was one year too young to know. "It's Professor Snape."

**A/N The proper order for emergency first-aid is Dr ABC:**

**Danger – check the area for hazards  
Response – check whether the patient is responsive  
Airway – check the airway is open  
Breathing – check the patient is breathing  
Circulation – check the patient's pulse **


	5. Neither dreaming nor delirious

NEITHER DREAMING NOR DELIRIOUS

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers. Thanks to all my reviewers. **

Hermione Granger bent over her unexpected patient. He should be waking any moment now. With her knowledge of his secret attachment it felt wrong to have him under her care but the headmaster had insisted that he be looked after at the school if that would not interfere with his full recovery.

"Severus received his injury whilst taking care of Hogwarts students. It's only fitting that Hogwarts takes care of him."

Unmentioned but unforgotten lay the knowledge that their former colleague had been declared dead by the Ministry and his assets and possessions presumably disposed of. His teaching position had been filled too and that would be another knotty tangle to be sorted out when - if he recovered.

The specialists from St Mungo's had been and gone, declaring that there seemed to be no pressing reason to take him to hospital. She wondered if that was out of respect for his war-hero status – unquestionably he'd be more comfortable in the place that had been his home for most of his life – or because they didn't want to deal with such a notoriously sarcastic sourpuss more than they needed. He hadn't woken up under their examination.

They'd seen no overt signs of damage from the prolonged transfiguration nor, as yet, any indication of latent curses but that would be clearer after he'd regained consciousness and mental clarity. Her care and skills should suffice, they'd decided, with St Mungo's Healers on call if required.

Hermione had forced a smile and grimly agreed. There was nothing she could have said without disturbing his confidentiality and he wouldn't thank her for exposing him. It would have been easier if he'd been too sick to remain but she couldn't wish him ill just to save herself some discomfort.

Black eyes opened blank and dim, blinking repeatedly in the dim light. As she watched they slowly cleared and focused on hers. The corners of his grim mouth curved slightly.

"Hermione," he whispered, his hand reaching weakly towards her.

She couldn't help an involuntary flinch. His hand dropped and his eyes closed. When he opened them again after long silent seconds they stared, narrow with calculation, into hers. His lips thinned almost to invisibility.

His eyes flickered over her form then back up to her face. She could see him realising that he was neither dreaming nor delirious. Probably, she supposed dully, in his dreams she was more receptive. Her teeth closed tightly on her lower lip.

His face was still grey with exhaustion, the harsh lines etched deeply into it. He'd always looked far older than his years. She remembered being surprised in third year to discover he was a contemporary of Harry's parents not his grandparents.

The silence was dreadful. She opened her mouth to speak too late.

"Why are you not in class, Miss Granger?" he rasped, his once-silky voice ragged as if he'd screamed it hoarse. 'Where is Madam Pomfrey?"

They'd wondered if he would have any memories of his transfigured state. Apparently he did not. It would be her task to tell him of that plus a lot more unpleasant news as soon as he was well enough to hear it. She cursed the chance that had put her in charge of caring for this unlovable man who'd lost everything except his bitter tongue and proud distance.

"You've been – away – for a long time," she told him. "Around four and a half years. Voldemort -"

"Don't say that name!"

Amazing how much ferocity he could contain in a barely audible whisper.

"- has been dead for four years. Really dead this time. There hasn't been any Death Eater activity for almost as long."

Unfortunately that didn't mean that no Death Eaters had gone free. They'd had their suspicions that some had managed to avoid fighting by faking illness and might still be at large ready to cause trouble if the opportunity ever arose.

He stared unblinkingly at her.

"Professor Dumbledore?"

She swallowed hard. It seemed cruel to tell him but he obviously had all his faculties. He'd have seen though a lie. He'd had too much practice.

"Dead."

The heavy lines deepened in his face.

"Professor McGonagall?"

She gulped again.

"Dead."

Filius Flitwick was Headmaster now and Pomona Sprout the Assistant Head. There were many new faces on the staff but all that could wait.

"Potter?" he whispered, his face contorted with the effort of keeping his eyes open.

"Playing Quidditch for England. He struck the fatal blow like the Prophecy said but then he'd had enough of living for everyone else. The only thing he saves now is the Snitch."

After the first few words he'd closed his eyes and subsided into the pillows. When she finished he turned his head away. The effort seemed to exhaust him.

"Lucius?" His voice was fading.

"Azkaban," she muttered, hoping he wouldn't ask for details. The once-regal blond looked worse than Mad-Eye now.

He said nothing. Only his Adam's apple gave a convulsive bob as if he was finding it hard to swallow. With a pang she remembered how indestructible he'd always seemed. For a moment she watched him gasp and cough before recollecting her duty to ease him. Yet when she put her hand to his forehead it was his turn to flinch. He took a long rattling breath, then another.

"Your concern - is as unwelcome - as it's - insincere," he breathed.

She murmured the spell and watched his eyes close in sleep. She hoped he'd sleep long and peacefully before she had to face him again. Not that it was at all likely to improve his temper.


	6. Hearts and stones

HEARTS AND STONES

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers. Thanks to all my reviewers.**

Hermione's knees were beginning to ache and her face was getting hot from the flames. It was a pity telephones didn't work at Hogwarts. She'd never really got used to floo-calling nor to the strange effect of Ginny's face floating in the fireplace, flame-coloured hair blending seamlessly into same-coloured flames.

"Is he awake?" Ginny asked. She'd heard the news at St Mungo's while being treated for a broken arm after a Quidditch match. She leaned forward and Hermione caught a glimpse of golden talon on her dark green Holyhead Harpies shirt.

"He was yesterday but only for a few minutes. Not only awake but lucid."

"What did he do?"

Hermione shrugged.

"Nothing. He recognised me but he thought I was still in school. Called me Miss Granger and asked after some – friends," she couldn't think of a better word though she was sure he'd never thought of Harry as a friend, no matter what his feelings might have been for the other three, "and then he was too exhausted to stay awake any more and he hasn't woken since."

"He thought you were still in school? So he doesn't remember anything in between? Then I suppose he's still in love -"

"No." _Yes._

"You're only saying that because you still hate him," Ginny told her.

"I never hated -"

"You can call it whatever you want -"

Hermione scowled and fiddled with the Holyhead rosette her friend had thrown into her lap at the start of the conversation. She didn't want to talk about that letter. Not now – or ever.

"What about you, Gin? You told me you loved someone you couldn't have. I thought you meant Harry but you've turned him down again and again. So who was it?"

Ginny's lips tightened and her eyes were like chips of dark amber.

"Come on, how bad could it be?" Hermione broke the silence. "Crabbe and Goyle? The Lestranges? Lucius Malfoy?" She knew it wasn't the younger Malfoy. Ginny had turned him down almost as often as Harry.

Ginny mouth twisted suddenly.

"Worse."

"Worse than Lucius and Rabastan? How could it be?" Hermione snorted "Don't tell me you loved Voldemort from afar?"

She wasn't expecting the sticky pause or the funny shape Ginny's mouth made. Ginny's eyes flickered away.

"He wasn't Voldemort when I knew him," she murmured.

Hermione's stomach dropped. It took three gulps before she could speak.

"Gin! But it was all a fraud. He was using -"

"Do you think I don't know that? I'm not stupid, Hermione! I know he didn't care about me at all. I was just his killing tool. I keep telling myself that. But he's different in my dreams. And until he stops coming to me there –"

Hermione shivered with sudden cold.

"He comes to you in your dreams? Why didn't you ever tell anyone? It could be a remnant from when he possessed you!"

"He doesn't have power to make me do anything for him any more. Not since Harry destroyed the diary. I just dream of him; that's all.' She tossed her hair back from her scowling face. "It's nobody's business but my own."

"Gin -"

"Go back to your patient, Hermione. He's getting rather loud. Are you sure he isn't awake?"

"I set watch-wards over him. I'll know if he wakes. No, he's just delirious. He's all right for a while then he starts tossing and turning and muttering, something about hearts and stones, whatever that means, and then he gets all soaking wet from fever. I've been mopping him down every hour but it only helps a little."

"Go and mop him down again then and let my love life alone. It's about as non-existent as yours."

Hermione grimaced. That was more truth than she wanted to hear right now when she had to face again the one person who had ever really looked at her and liked what he saw. She set her teeth. She wasn't that desperate, to like him back just because he - liked her.

She emerged from her office only to find Varvara lounging against an empty bed. The girl bundled up her lumpy green and silver knitting into her schoolbag and looked up hopefully.

"Is he -"

"No change." Realising she still held the rosette Hermione pinned it on to her robes rather than waste time putting it away. "I hope you're not expecting him to thank you because I don't think he will."

The girl's hazel eyes lit with mischief.

"He taught me for two and a half years, Madam Granger. I haven't forgotten what he was like." She pushed a dark curl off her face. "But he did save our lives that time and there's a bunch of us who want to thank him. You could say I'm just the head of a deputation."

"If he wants to see you when he wakes I'll let you know," Hermione said, wondering precisely how vitriolic her patient would be if that Slytherin-coloured mess of wool was meant for him.

She waited till the girl was gone before entering the curtained cubicle and releasing the wards. Snape was muttering again, his long body twitching in uneven little jerks. Conjuring a fresh damp cloth she moved forward but as she bent over him to smooth the limp sweaty strands from his face his body stilled and his voice steadied.

"Hearts, as faces, time retraces;  
Flesh and bone to rock and stone."

She stepped back, casting a quick glance over the bed. Nothing else seemed to have changed. Was that couplet the key to his illness, perhaps the curse incantation that had been used against him? Casting a quick glance over him she bent again. This time as soon as her hand touched his hair his eyes snapped open.

"Six and a half years I taught you," he sneered, "and you still don't know when your help is unwanted."


	7. Premature Declaration

PREMATURE DECLARATION

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers. Thanks to all my reviewers.**

Healer Salo stood up from his examination and nodded to his shorter colleague. Hermione glanced from one Mungo's specialist to the other.

"How much do you remember, Mr Snape?" Healer Trewithick asked.

Snape glowered at the woman as Hermione winced. He'd insisted on a private interview with the headmaster that morning and had been very quiet ever since. Obviously he wasn't happy with the world he'd returned to; no job, no home and his possessions discarded due to the Ministry's premature declaration of his death.

"Enough_, Miss_ Trewithick," he emphasised the title, "to know you're wasting your time and mine!"

"Professor Snape," the other man interposed, "Do you remember the details of your injury? Who transfigured you and how? Did he use his wand or a curse?"

Snape pursed his lips and half-closed his eyes.

"Lucius," he said after a frowning half-minute. "There were another eleven Death Eaters there but no one said anything but Lucius."

"So it was a spoken hex?" Salo pressed.

"I don't recall. Lucius was always rather melodramatic. He made a comment about my face mirroring my heart and something about turning me to my true self."

"Did you know what he meant?" Salo asked.

"Obviously, the first part was referring to my unmasking; they'd thought me one of them till that moment. I suppose the second part was a poetic way of saying he'd transfigure me into stone to match my heart." Snape's thin lips curled in a coldly amused sneer and Hermione bit back a snort of laughter.

"You don't recall if he said that couplet Madam Granger heard just prior to your waking, Mr - sorry, Professor Snape?" The female healer leaned forward, twisting a few strands of shining blonde hair around one finger. Snape raised an eyebrow until she blushed, letting her hair drop.

"A couplet?" he frowned, turning to examine Hermione's face with searching intensity.

"You said, as near as I could tell, 'Hearts, as faces, time retraces; Flesh and bone to rock and stone.' "

He looked her slowly up and down, derision in every line of his narrow face.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Miss Granger, but Death Eater meetings didn't normally feature the recitation of poetry and certainly not such a poor attempt as that."

She coloured.

"I didn't imagine it! And it's Madam, not Miss!"

"We're trying to help you, Professor Snape," Salo interrupted again. "It would be to your advantage to cooperate as fully as possible."

"I have told you all I remember of the incident. The Death Eaters apparated at the end of the street. They were Lucius, Rabastan, Bellatrix, Rookwood, Fabian, Torrens, Crabbe, Goyle, Avery, Dolohov and the Carrow twins. I called the students to me and shepherded them to Honeydukes. Several were injured, I saw Kaddrick, Orton and Perks stumble and Baddock fell but I believe the rest made it safely inside. Then my erstwhile colleagues surrounded me and Lucius made the comment I've already told you and the next thing I recall was waking up here."

A heated argument followed. Healer Salo believed the couplet referred to the past, Healer Trewithick to the future. Snape watched the disputants with detached malice. It was clear to Hermione that he had no intention of sharing his own ideas, whatever they might be.

At last Salo turned to him in exasperation.

"Your expertise in these matters is well-known, Professor. Would it not be the case that a new portion of the curse could not be activated without being triggered by contact with the caster?"

"Lucius is in Azkaban. It can be assumed therefore that he's had no opportunity either to visit me himself or to send a proxy. No doubt Miss Granger would know if anyone save herself has touched me since I was brought here."

"It's Madam! And no they haven't."

When the Healers left Hermione did too, setting the watch-wards in seething silence. She didn't trust herself not to quarrel with him if she stayed. Bad enough that he stiffened every time she approached, making it clear how greatly he disliked her company, but he'd been deliberately baiting her in front of the Healers. She settled down with a small pile of books from the Restricted Section. Ginny's confession the previous day had alarmed her. Had Voldemort somehow left a back door in her brain to enable his return yet again?

It took her two hours to calm down enough to return. It took Snape two seconds to wind her up again by the studied way he turned his back when she opened the curtain. She let it fall behind her, barely remembering to reinforce the privacy ward before speaking.

"If I didn't know you loved me, I'd think you hated me."

His shoulders stiffened but his voice was quiet.

"If I didn't know you hated me, I might think that concerned you."

"I don't hate you."

"Growing up has not improved you, Miss Granger. You used at least not to lie."

"It's true. I never hated you – not since I was a silly first year – even when you were completely nasty." She waited for a response that never came. "I didn't! Listen, you wrote that you wanted it to be a comfort, not a distress. It was. Not at first but after a while. Whenever I felt depressed I'd take out your letter and – and watch you write it – to remind myself that someone had - liked me that way."

"You watched me?" he asked, his back still turned.

"Yes."

"Often?"

"Often enough," she muttered, shamefaced.

"Did you ever show anyone else?"

She didn't want to tell him but he would know if she lied. He always knew.

"O-only Ginny, that first time, before I -"

He didn't let her finish.

"I have nothing to say to you. Go away."


	8. Not Howlers

NOT HOWLERS

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers. Thanks to all my reviewers.**

A two-day period of stiff silence was succeeded by an explosion of sarcasm from Hermione's patient. She bit back a sharp retort and told herself he was getting his strength back. She hadn't admitted how much his uncharacteristic languor had worried her.

He finished his peroration on her incompetence and looked around for another thing to criticise. His eye fell on a bulging sack pushed up against the wall.

"Does my room double as a rubbish dump?" he snarled. "Why is that here?"

"It's the letters you've received so far," she said, plumping up his pillow as he leaned forward. "Owls have been arriving in droves ever since the news got out that you'd been found alive."

His eyes narrowed.

"You may have put a stasis spell on them but it's still a fire hazard. Why have you not disposed of them as they arrived, or are you hoping to burn me in my bed?"

She stared at him for several seconds before understanding his concern.

"They're not Howlers, Professor," she said quietly. "You're a war hero now. You saved their children. They awarded you an Order of Merlin posthumously, you know."

For the first time in days he looked at her. Spots of colour rose in his thin cheeks. She nodded at him, then busied herself with straightening his rumpled sheets and shaking out his blankets.

"An Order of Merlin?" he probed as she sat down beside him with his tray.

"Second class," she said quietly.

He shot her a frowning glance and studied the counterpane, not looking up till he heard the clink of the spoon in the bowl.

"Don't trouble. I can feed myself now."

"It's no trouble. That's my job."

The first sentence had straightened his shoulders but the second wiped all expression from his face.

"Thank you," he spat, "but I don't need your help."

She handed him the spoon and watched his fingers curl around it for the first time. By bending his head he could just manage to lift it to his mouth. Yes, he was definitely getting strength and dexterity back. Before she knew it he'd be well enough to leave. She wondered what he'd do and where he'd go. He'd grudgingly accepted the headmaster's offer of help in sorting out the legal tangle of his affairs but he'd refused to stay on as a burden where he'd previously been a support. Unless a suitable teaching position fell vacant before the next school year he'd leave as soon as he could walk. Her mouth tightened. She knew he'd be too proud to return.

"You must be very bored," she said. "Would you like someone to read them to you?"

His eyes darted sideways to hers.

"Yes, that would be acceptable."

She took his tray and stood up.

"I'm sure Varvara will be delighted. She's been wanting to see you."

"Oh, not yourself then." His voice was casual.

"It's the Alumni match this weekend," she explained. "A brainwave of Filius's, ever since he became headmaster. It's very popular. Quite a few of my friends will be here for it."

His face shuttered.

"I see." His long fingers clenched around the coverlet. "Varvara?" he asked. "A new teacher?"

"No, Varvara Skolnik. The one who bandaged you outside Honeydukes."

His lips curled.

"I suppose she's expecting fulsome gratitude."

"Not at all. She wants to thank you for saving her four years ago. In fact, I believe she's been elected as a representative of all the students you saved that day." Warm brown eyes crinkled in amusement. "You're a bit of a legend, Professor. They tell stories about you in the Common Rooms. Fifth years and up are the only ones old enough to have been in your class so don't be surprised if some of the younger ones hero-worship you."

"Ridiculous. I'll soon put an end to that."

Her mouth twitched.

"I'm sure you will."

They were both wrong. Varvara was polite but unabashed. When he railed at her, she merely bent her head and waited till he'd finished, then resumed opening his letters with unabated good humour.

"Look, Professor. There's a photo with the two dearest little babies!"

"Who?" Surely they couldn't possibly be trying to foist paternity onto him, though there had already been three marriage proposals. Any brats would have to be at least five for him to be accused of having fathered them and she'd called them babies.

"Andrew Severus and Amalie Severina."

"What?" Or could they?"I meant the parents, you insufferable little dunderhead!"

"Sally Ann and Jack Driscoll – oh, Sally Ann Perks, of course. 'Dear Professor, I can't tell you how happy I am you didn't die that day. Words can't express -' "

"Stop wasting my time reading me what she didn't say and tell me what she did say."

Wide-set eyes skimmed the letter, then a dimpled heart-shaped face lifted to his.

"Only that she's fully recovered from the attack and that she'll never forget you. And she's named her twins after you, they're about sixteen months -"

He scowled at the thought of facing a pair of namesakes across a classroom in nine years, then scowled even more at the thought of not doing so. He'd been teaching almost all his adult life.

"Enough! Can't you find one that isn't a farrago of nonsense?"

"Sorry, Professor, I am trying," she pulled out a scented pink missive and dropped it before he could explode, "but what else can you expect? You died to save us and that outweighs thousands of harsh comments in the classroom."

She picked up another handful of letters and riffled through them, adding wistfully, "Is it so bad to be popular?"

_It's like walking on quicksand._


	9. Cradle Snatching

CRADLE-SNATCHING

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers. Thanks to all my reviewers.**

"So," Ron chortled as he hugged her, "you're stuck looking after the greasy git. Are you going to make him pay for all the nasty names he used to call you?"

Hermione forced a smile.

He wasn't that bad," she said.

"You're not still defending him, are you? Even after that letter?"

Hermione chewed on her lip. She couldn't tell them the truth and she'd been too preoccupied with research to prepare a lie. To no avail; she still didn't know whether Voldemort's destroyed diary could have left a shadow in Ginny's brain.

"Say the word and we'll teach him a lesson," Harry offered.

"No!" Her voice was sharp. "You're not to go near him. He's far too ill to be bothered. And besides -"

"Serves him right. He's the most spiteful -"

"Ron!"

"Horrid -"

"No, he -"

"Greasy, rotten -"

"Shut it!" She'd been so looking forward to seeing them and now she wanted nothing more than to hex them. "You've never even thanked him for saving our lives all those times." Neither had she, she realised suddenly.

"All right, all right," Ron huffed. He examined her scowlingly. "You're sweet on him, aren't you?"

"Ronald Weasley! Looking after sick people is my job." And teaching used to be Snape's but he'd never seemed to enjoy it. She scowled. Whatever had inspired him to agree to look over that ubiquitous girl's Defence essay? He'd never have looked over one of her essays when she was in school.

Upstairs, Snape was asking himself the same question.

"It says that a delayed curse is usually activated after 'a full cycle plus one'. What does that mean?" Varvara demanded, brandishing a small dragon-skin book she'd borrowed from the Restricted Section two weeks earlier.

"Most casters choose either a year and a day or a week and a day."

"How can you tell which?"

"If one knows the caster well, one can probably guess," he equivocated.

"And it starts when the curse is spoken?"

"Sometimes sooner. A reactivated curse starts from the time of first revival, if the caster or his proxy makes contact within 48 hours." He traced his lips with one long pale finger. "Anyone else he's ever cursed may unwittingly act as his proxy or it can be transmitted through an object."

Varvara looked up from her notes.

"And certain words act as commands, sort of like coded messages. What -"

"That's only of interest to dark wizards."

"But wouldn't Healers need to know it?" she asked.

"No. The only way to undo such a curse is to fulfil its conditions."

"And if you can't?"

"Surely even you must be able to answer that for yourself!" he growled, dismissing her. There was a pounding ache in his left temple. He closed his eyes and waited for sleep. When Hermione checked on him an hour later, he was still waiting, every muscle tensed. He didn't open his eyes.

The next morning dawned cloudy and cold. After a restless night, he slept into mid-morning, waking to the unwelcome sound of kissing from behind the curtain. He wondered if it was Potter or Weasley or perhaps a more recent entanglement.

"If you've quite finished, Miss Granger," he sneered, "perhaps you could return to your duties."

"Sorry, Professor." A small hand slid the curtain aside. It was Varvara, with a long-chinned straight-limbed boy at her side. "We didn't mean to disturb you."

"I'm not a raree-show for the amusement of your friends, Miss Skolnik."

"No, Professor, sorry. This is Gary Eldridge. He helped me bandage you. It's hard to believe it's only a week, sir!"

"Cradle-snatching, are you? I've never taught an Eldridge," Snape mused, "though there was a Laurence Eldridge a year or two below me. A Hufflepuff."

"My father, sir."

Simultaneously Varvara protested, "He's not that young and he's much nicer than any of the older boys."

"Very well. Now that you've presented him, you can remove him and go watch the raree-show outside instead," Snape said wearily.

The boy left. Varvara stayed.

"Shall I call Madam Granger, sir? Do you want a potion?"

"No. Go away."

"Yes, sir. I didn't mean to wake you. I just wanted to bring you this." He opened his eyes. She was holding a long uneven rectangle of green wool with a silver stripe at each end.

"What's that?"

She grimaced.

"I knitted you a scarf, sir. I know it's not very good but I wanted to say thank you."

His voice was quiet and deadly.

"What made you think I'd wish for your charity?"

"It isn't charity, Professor. You saved my life and I wanted to – to show that I appreciated it." Candid troubled eyes met his. "Why would you think it was charity?"

He took three long slow deep breaths. She meant well and he was tired. Almost too tired to care.

"Perhaps you're not aware that my possessions were disposed of when they thought me dead."

"No! They – Oh no! That's awful!" She bit her lip. "All the more reason for you to have this, sir. As a thank you present. If not for you I wouldn't be here."

He stared at the lumpy crooked rectangle that was all he owned in the world. It was ridiculous, but let the girl leave it if she wanted. Just so that she'd go away.

It was the first thing Hermione saw when she visited him twenty minutes later. A messy green and silver scarf, the scarf Varvara had been knitting all week, clenched in his fist. She glared at it, then at him.

"What does Varvara mean to you?" she snapped. "What are you enticing her to do?" She knew, even as she said it, that that was unfair but she couldn't stop herself.

He stared at her incredulously.

"You think I'd be interested in a child like that?"

Too stubborn to apologise, Hermione shrugged one shoulder and stared at his pale blue-veined fists, the left still closed around Varvara's gift.

"Why not? You were interested in me once. For all I know you're always falling for students."

"I have only ever loved once." He folded his lips and turned his head away. "Whether I die tomorrow or in two hundred years, my feelings will not have changed."

**"Raree-show" is an old-fashioned word for "freak-show".**


	10. Unfinished Business

UNFINISHED BUSINESS

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers. Thanks to all my reviewers. **

**Many of you didn't get past "I have only ever loved once" to "Whether I die tomorrow..." You might want to re-read chapter 9, this time taking note of comments like "a week and a day" and "It's only been a week." Just to remind you, here's that curse couplet again: "Hearts, as faces, time retraces; Flesh and bone to rock and stone."**

"Ginny is coming, isn't she?" Harry asked, striding restlessly around Hermione's office.

"Yes, but only just in time for the match." She fiddled with her quill. "It's just as well, because there's something I wanted to talk to you about before she gets here."

Harry went very still.

"Something about Ginny? With us?" Ron asked, straightening up from his slouch. Since becoming an Auror, he'd developed a nose for a mystery.

"In a way." Hermione squirmed. This wasn't betrayal; it only felt like it. "Unfinished business. It's about that diary you destroyed, Harry. How sure are you that it can't cause any more trouble?"

"I stabbed it with a basilisk's fang," Harry said. "It left a blackened hole in the middle. The ink ran out like blood and Riddle died. Why?"

"I think she still dreams of him."

"You think?" Ron stabbed a forefinger at her. "Or you know?"

In the silence that followed both men drew closer, leaning over her as she sat with her eyes on her book-laden desk.

"I know."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Harry exploded.

"I am telling you!" she shot back. "I've only just found out myself -"

"What does Snape say?"

Green eyes and brown eyes turned to stare at Ron. He snorted.

"You've got an ex-Death Eater who's an expert on curses and used to be chums with the git who gave her that diary and you didn't even ask him?"

"You're right," she said, ignoring Ron's muttered, "How long have I waited to hear you say that?" She jumped up. "I'll ask him now."

"But not without us," Harry admonished. "We're coming too."

"Only if he's well enough to see you. Whatever's going on has been going on for years. I won't risk his health by hurrying him beyond his strength."

In the event, they didn't meet him till the next morning. Snape had insisted on Ginny's presence, pointing out that they'd need information that only she knew, and the game and after-match celebrations left Hermione too busy treating various small injuries to attend sooner.

Snape had had another bad night but when she asked him at breakfast whether he wanted to postpone the conference he snapped, "No."

Hermione was ready to quarrel too. Ever since her friends had arrived in the castle he'd been 'sulking'.

"You have a strange way of treating someone you claim to love," she snapped back.

"I've never claimed any such thing."

"You call everyone 'Dearest, ever-dearest' in your letters, do you? That must make for some interesting correspondence."

"You're not the girl I -" He bit off the last word and closed his eyes. "You're a woman now, a woman I don't even know."

"You never knew me."

"I never let on that I knew you. Surely even your limited intelligence can see the difference."

"Yesterday, you said that your feelings didn't change," she reminded him. "Was that a lie then?"

He stared at his fisted hands for an endless moment.

"No," he muttered, defeated.

He said nothing more till the others were assembled around his bed. Ginny had balked at first but fortunately Harry and Ron had finally learnt not to lay down the law and Snape's thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. He was sitting up with banked pillows, a blanket pulled up almost to his chin, but he snapped back to attention when Ginny began to describe her dreams, though his questions related more to duration and chronology than to content.

Then he turned to Harry for a description of the diary's destruction and whereabouts.

"So Lucius took it away with him," he said. "It isn't in the Chamber of Secrets, then?"

Harry agreed.

"It wouldn't be beyond Lucius to put an extra curse on it before handing it over," Snape said at last. "We'll have to work on the assumption that he did." He turned to the other men. "Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, I recommend that you go immediately to Azkaban to interview Lucius. They'll surely not deny an Auror access and no doubt Mr Potter's fame gives him the entrée anywhere."

"If you think we'll let Harry and Ron go without us -"

"I'll have you know Ginny and I are perfectly capable -"

"You asked for my advice, I suggest you listen to it." Snape's voice was icy. "It is imperative that Miss Weasley avoid all contact with Lucius till this situation is resolved and, Miss Granger, you have responsibilities here that you cannot leave for so long. I assure you both that you will have your opportunity to partake in the _excitement_."

With a bad grace, the two subsided and Harry and Ron made their escape before there was time for another female explosion. As soon as he was satisfied they were gone, Snape smirked.

"That should keep them out of the way for a sufficient period," he said. "I understand, Miss Weasley, that you've met with Draco Malfoy several times without ill-effect. If anyone alive knows what happened to that diary or how it might have been cursed, it would be he." After four years in Azkaban, Lucius was probably raving and even an accomplished Legilimens might have difficulty accessing his memories. "He had quite an extensive training in Theoretical Dark Arts as a child."

Hermione stared and Ginny giggled.

"That was brilliant, Professor," she said. "Evil but brilliant."

"What about me?" Hermione asked, finding her voice.

"You may go too, if you wish – if Filius doesn't object. Without the Ministry or the Azkaban bureaucracy to fight your way through, obtaining an interview shouldn't take more time away than you can afford."

Hermione paused before following Ginny out.

"Are you sure you'll be all right? I could send Varvara -"

"No!" His eyes flashed. He closed them. "I believe I shall sleep."

He waited till their footsteps and voices died away before standing up. His eyes lingered on the quill but his hand reached instead for his wand. There was no time. Already his fingers, grey-tipped, were almost too stiff to curl around it. Besides he'd said everything before in that other letter; love, apologies for all the times he'd hurt her, wishes for her happiness.

He scowled down at his nightshirt and bare legs. He hated the thought of wandering around so exposed but a disillusionment spell would have to do. Even had he the time to dress, he no longer had the ability. Fortunately there were shortcuts and hidden paths. If only he could get to the Apparition point, he could go where she would never find him. Perhaps wade out into the sea and let the waters wash him clean.


	11. An Unfortunate Habit

AN UNFORTUNATE HABIT

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers. Thanks to all my reviewers.Snape wasn't suicidal at the end of ch 10; he was merely bowing to the inevitable.**

Hermione glared at Draco as he leaned gracefully against a bookshelf. The Malfoy library was magnificent.

"You were a prat in school," she said. Snape had always favoured him; why hadn't he bothered to return the favour now that the man was back?

"Yes, and you were a bossy little suck-up. I hope we've both changed since then."

"And what was I, Malfoy?" Ginny asked coolly.

His mouth twitched.

"An untried fledgeling, with a temper as hot as your hair. And if I'd told you that, you'd have hexed me so badly I'd still be in St Mungo's."

Were they _flirting_? Hermione quickly turned the conversation to the enchanted diary. Was Riddle's ghost still somehow bound to its pages?

"No," Draco said with flat finality. "It's not Riddle's shade. Potter destroyed that connection."

Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I helped the Aurors tear this place apart after the war, looking for Dark Artefacts. I remember the diary well. It was inert."

"Then why do I have these dreams?" Ginny demanded.

"There could be several reasons. It may not be a curse at all. Maybe you've kept him because you weren't ready to let him go."

"Malfoy! Of course, I want to let him go!"

"Do you? Dream-lovers are so much easier than the real kind. They never say all the wrong things or get huffy when you want to be alone. Maybe you just don't want to decide between me and Potter."

"Is that what you think?" Her eyes blazed.

He ranged around the room, half-pulling out books and re-shelving them.

"No. My father had an unfortunate habit of cursing enemies and associates alike. I suspect he used the diary to open an independent link for a dream-sending, piggybacking on its power but not actually part of it," he said at last. "That would explain why it showed no trace. But I'm not sure how to break it. I think we should take it back to where Riddle made it and burn it there. The original magic might re-awaken just enough to – to repossess it, as it were, and sever the link."

"And where would that be?" Ginny asked.

"Probably the Chamber of Secrets," Draco admitted reluctantly. They'd need Potter to open it.

Hermione fidgeted. For a week, she'd managed not to think about her patient except when she tended him. Ginny's dream-visitor had been a welcome distraction, but now her attention kept wandering instead to the man they'd left behind.

'There's something I've missed,' she told herself. "Something he didn't tell me." As a teacher he'd demanded and imposed, but in his personal life he took self-sufficiency almost to the point of self-abnegation. If there were something he needed, he wouldn't ask; she'd have to guess.

She watched in memory that hollow weary face, more white than sallow now, and those black reproachful eyes. How could she have been so hateful, picking fights with him when he must be in so much pain? Something about the stiff way he'd held himself, the tense set of his shoulders, niggled at her.

Abruptly she changed the subject.

"What do you know about curse couplets?"

"Why?"

Snape said one on Monday as he woke -"

Draco swung round to interrogate her, his grey eyes alarmed.

"Monday? What time Monday?"

"About lunchtime."

"And he was revived about 2 p.m. Saturday?"

"Yes, does it matter?"

His forehead wrinkled into deep vertical clefts.

"Did you touch Ginny in that time? Or did she give you anything?"

"No, I don't think -"

"Yes," Ginny cut in. "I gave you a Holyhead rosette from the game, remember?"

"What's wrong?" Hermione faltered.

"Tell me the couplet," he ordered.

She told him. His breath rushed out in a heavy sough of wind.

"That's why he sent you here. Getting you out of the way so he could leave."

The same sneaky way he got the boys out of the way. But -

"Leave? Why would he wan-?"

"He probably thinks Hogwarts has enough statues," he told her pityingly.

"I don't understand."

"Gryffindors! Give me strength! Look, it's simple. The first stanza sets up the second with two command words; 'time' means it's a reversal curse to re-petrify him. Though the second stanza suggests he'll keep his shape this time -"

"Why didn't he say? We could have tried -"

"Because the other command is 'hearts'! It's a True Love curse, it can't be broken unless he loves someone – which is absurd, let's face it, probably why Lucius chose it – and she has to love him back. Which is even more unlikely."

Hermione stood white-lipped, her eyes darting from Ginny to the door. Draco gave a sudden shout of laughter.

"Oh, you don't, do you?" He shook his head, biting his lips. "And he? Priceless! No accounting for tastes. Go on then. You've not much time."

"But Ginny -"

"I'll sort out Ginny! Off with you! He'd have tried to Apparate, I expect. Try the spot in the Forbidden Forest, it's more likely than the main gates, I'd say. He wouldn't want to be seen."

"But -" She couldn't breathe for the thrumming in her ears.

"Hurry up, Granger! Do you want to get there in time or don't you?"

She was going to be sick. Her legs were boneless and her chest hollow. In the end, he pushed her out the door and ordered her to Apparate.

"You can have hysterics later. He's probably turning even as we speak, now go!"

She went.

He wasn't at the Main Gates. She still couldn't quite believe it. He could barely walk. He must be up in the ward still, resting in bed. But she tried a _Point Me_ spell and he wasn't there. He wasn't anywhere.

She took a sobbing ragged breath. The Forbidden Forest. Draco had said he'd have gone that way. If he'd apparated already she wouldn't know where to go. She had no way of following. Her eyes darted back and forth as she ran, seeking, searching. Was he fallen on the way? Where was he?

And then she saw him. Under a tree, outstretched, silent, sprawled where he'd fallen. Speckled grey like granite. She ran to him and fell to her knees at his side. Cold, rough, grey granite.

Hot tears fell on cold stone cheeks and slid down. She pressed a kiss, the first and last, on the lifeless stone lips and collapsed weeping on his rocky chest.

**A/N One more chapter and it's a long one. As it may be a while before I get a chance to post it, I'm leaving you with a teaser: **

How long Hermione lay there grieving she didn't know, nor did she notice when she first felt a heart thudding under her cheek and arms reaching to hold her, tightening like steel bands. Then a familiar voice said the unthinkable...


	12. Serious Business

SERIOUS BUSINESS

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers. This final chapter is a double-helping. ****Thanks to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle, and to all my reviewers. A special thanks to Bellegeste for being inspired to write a brilliant prequel, see end.**

**Reactivating the curse: As Snape explained to Varvara, anyone Lucius has ever cursed (eg Ginny) can be his proxy in the first 48 hours after Snape's revival, or an object can be the agent of reactivation.**

How long Hermione lay there grieving she didn't know, nor did she notice when she first felt a heart thudding under her cheek and arms reaching to hold her, tightening like steel bands. Then a familiar voice said the unthinkable.

"Am I a plant that you water my chest, Miss Granger? You made your displeasure at my survival clear enough; you need do no more. Only wait and all shall be rectified."

She was crying too hard to stop, but she lifted her head from his chest to stare into his shadowed eyes as he released her. She sat back on her heels, watching him painfully drag himself up to lean against the nearest tree.

"How could you? Oh, how could you?" she choked. "Sneaking off into the forest to die alone, like a sick animal! Don't you even want to live? You should have told me -"

"Told you what?" he spat. "Love me or be my death? As if loving came by choosing!"

She gulped and rubbed her hand across her eyes.

"You never even gave me a chance."

"A chance to say how angry I made you? You made that more than clear without need for words, but very well! Tell me, if you wish."

"I wasn't angry," she cried. "I was – I was confused. You hated me, only you didn't, and then you were dead and suddenly you weren't. Whenever I remembered how you used to bait me and my friends I hated you and whenever I watched you writing that letter I – I almost loved you. And when you came back,I didn't know which was real."

"Only a dunderhead could imagine that –sentimentality - was real. You don't even know me. Children never know their teachers."

"I didn't before. But I saw _you_ in that letter. Just you. Clear seeing, unswerving - steadfast. You knew you were going to die, just like today. And you did what you thought was right and licked your wounds in private, just like always." Her throat worked. "You've always been alone, haven't you? I used to think you wanted to be."

"You don't love me. It's a silly child's fantasy!"

"I'm not a child. I've had four years since then to learn more about you. I work with people who were your colleagues for years – and your teachers before that - and I've grasped at every scrap they ever let fall about you. Your letter made me curious. I've sat up late at night, puzzling what I saw as a child through the eyes of an adult, so many little things I didn't see at the time. How you came rushing to save us in the Shrieking Shack, how you never punished us for knocking you out that night, your arguments in the staffroom about discipline and Quidditch and whose turn it was to supervise the Hogsmeade outings 'to see the dunderheads safely home again'. So don't tell me I don't know you!"

"You think that's love?"

"You're alive, aren't you? You were stone when I came. Draco said it was a True Love curse -"

He scowled.

"That boy needs to learn to keep quiet about what doesn't concern -"

"I asked!" Her voice was fierce. "You didn't tell me but somehow I knew something was – and I asked! And I'm glad I did!" She sniffed. "I thought I was too late. You were stone, you were cold and hard and -"

"Not so different from usual, then." He stared at the flattened grass just beyond his bare feet. "It was the curse, 'Hearts, as faces'. The change began outside and moved inwards but you must have arrived before it was complete."

She edged forward and reached a tentative hand to his face. He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing. Anything can be borne without expression if one just breathes slowly and evenly. But her hand was on his cheek and her lips on his and there was no need to hide his feelings now so his hands snaked out and pulled her onto his lap and he settled down to the serious business of kissing Hermione.

Some time later, they were disturbed by twin pops. They looked up to find Ginny and Draco smirking at them. Hermione shifted but two hungry arms pulled her back.

"You always manage to surprise me, Severus," Draco said."Nice nightshirt, by the way." It wasn't. Smears and grass stains marred the crumpled cotton.

"What are you doing here, you unconscionable brat?" Severus scowled unmoving.

"Waiting for Potty and Weasel, if you must know." Draco's eyes laughed as Ginny smacked him on the arm. "And they're not too pleased with you for that wild-goose chase you sent them on, so if you two ever want to hear the end of it about cuddling half-naked in the Forbidden Forest -"

The adrenalin was fading but Severus couldn't let that pass.

"It might be worth the risk," he muttered. "The shock may bereave them of their speech permanently." And visual demonstration might save time explaining to those two dunderheads.

"Pity Draco told them to Apparate to the main gates," Ginny commiserated. "We only came here to check you were all right."

"I'm perfectly well," Snape began but his voice slurred.

Hermione glared at him.

"You're going straight back to bed and if you dare say another word – about anything - I'll _Mobilicorpus_ you exactly as you are, right through all the students."

His attempt at an answer was drowned out by cackles from Draco and Ginny.

"Bossy as ever," Draco noted.

"Prat," Hermione retorted, waving them away.

In the event, she was forced to conjure a stretcher and _Disillusion _it and themselves to avoid being delayed by students or alumni on the way. Severus was able to stand, barely, but too weak to walk even with support.

"How you have the nerve to call other people dunderheads!" Hermione grumbled as she tucked him in. "You've put your recovery back by weeks, maybe months! If I hadn't been so caught up with that stupid dream-sending of Ginny's, I'd have noticed sooner that you were hiding something. How was I supposed to know you were cursed when you acted so calm? I hardly dare leave you for a moment now!"

"All the better," he yawned, "but I thought you were going to help them burn the book."

She smoothed his hair away from his damp face and he turned his head to nestle against her hand. Her thumb traced a line from his forehead to his jaw.

"They can do it without me," she said. "I'd rather be here. Anyway, Draco seems perfectly capable -"

"I never expected to hear you say that."

She bent to drop a kiss on his cheek. Somehow he managed to pull her down onto the bed and into his arms. She sighed and snuggled closer.

"You won't leave, will you? Promise you'll stay at Hogwarts with me after you're better, till there's a job."

He stiffened.

"I don't need anyone's charity."

"It's not charity! Think of it as payment for services rendered. You won't be freeloading. You can brew for me, patrol the halls, tutor the remedial students – I know for a fact you're expert in Runes and Arithmancy, as well as -"

"Won't the current crop of Longbottoms adore you for that suggestion?" he jeered, but his hand went to stroke her cheek.

Just then, Varvara walked in on them. She blinked.

"You're back," she announced as Hermione scrambled off the bed. "You must be feeling better if you were well enough to go out, Professor, I'm so glad! Some parents that came for the Quidditch have asked whether you'd be well enough to see them. They wanted to offer you a job."

"Varvara," Hermione said weakly, "you didn't ask them to, did you?" Her hand tightening on his arm kept Severus from exploding.

"Oh, no!" Varvara gave a sunny smile. "I only mentioned how Professor Snape's old job was filled -"

"Go back and tell them, 'Not today'," Hermione cut in. "They can Owl."

"That girl had better hope I take one of those jobs," Severus muttered, rubbing his abused arm as Varvara bounced out. "If I stay here, I'll put her in detention for the rest of the year."

There followed an hour of blessed privacy. He dozed and woke to find her watching over him. Once assured that he was rested enough for conversation, she raised questions she'd been pondering for years. When had he fallen in love? Surely not when she was eleven? He'd always seemed to hate her.

"You were a nuisance in the classroom," he said, "and an even bigger nuisance out of it, with your wild reckless exploits. I didn't see anything to admire till the second half of your sixth year but then I seemed to find more every time I looked. All that's best and worst of Gryffindor combines in you."

"I thought you didn't like anything about Gryffindors."

"So did I." He set his teeth. "I had no right, no right to think of you at all. I stood in place of your father."

"But you weren't my father." She squeezed his hand. "Feelings don't come by rights. Ginny said that about your letter, only I didn't understand then. You never did anything wrong. Even after your death – what we thought was your death - you waited till I wasn't a student to send it."

Slowly his face relaxed.

"There must have been a moment when you realised," she added. "When was that?"

Colour crept into the wan cheeks.

"You were consoling Longbottom after his toad died."

"Oh, I remember! You were so nasty about it; you told him that such foolish affections invariably brought disaster." She watched the red spread over his face and neck. "It wasn't him you were speaking to at all, was it?"

When Ron came hurtling in a little while later, followed by Ginny and Draco, he didn't at first notice their joined hands.

"Malfoy's not a total ferret, after all," he announced. "You should have come, Hermione, you'd have liked to see the ritual he dreamed up. And when the book caught fire, I thought he was going to go up with it, the way it swirled around him!"

Hermione turned her head.

"Where's Harry?"

"He said he had to go. He'll keep in touch." Ron looked shifty.

"But -"

"It's my fault," Ginny said. "I told him again that I'm not going to marry him. It's not me he loves, really, it's being a Weasley. And he has that anyhow, in all but name. He wants me to be like Mum, but I never will be."

Hermione's brow furrowed. If Ginny had chosen Draco, wouldn't Ron be sulking now?

"Not me, either," Draco answered her questioning glance. "I wasn't fool enough to ask today. She's just ended an affair that's been going on almost half her life, she's hardly going to be ready for another."

"And you're not the only two men in the world, either," Ginny shot back. "No reason it has to be either of you."

Ron nodded smugly but Draco was unfazed.

"You'd tell me if I had no hope ever."

Ron's grin faltered.

"You can't marry a Malfoy! His dad cursed you!" His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Maybe that's what the curse was all about, getting you to marry ferret-face here so he could control you."

Draco rolled his eyes and inspected his well-cared-for nails.

"I'm sure he wanted to control you," he agreed. "Seventh child - and a way to get back at your dad. They always hated each other. We can only guess why he never tried. Or maybe he did and you were too powerful. But he'd never have countenanced my marriage to a Weasley. If you were silly enough to be driven by revenge, frankly I can't think of a better." His grey eyes lifted to meet Ginny's. "Only you'd never make a choice based on anything so pointless, would you?"

Ginny looked back, half-frowning, but her voice was friendly.

"Think you know me, do you? Show-off."

"Urgh," Ron said, revolted. "You can't marry a Slytherin."

"Why not?" Draco asked, cheerfully throwing his fellow-Slytherin to the wolves. "Hermione's going to."

Ron made a face.

"Nah, she wouldn't."

"Then why is she holding hands with her patient?"

Long pale fingers tightened around Hermione's in sudden anxiety. She squeezed back. Ginny swatted Draco on the arm again and Ron went an interesting shade of magenta.

"You – you – you're not – the letter – Not Snape, Hermione, tell me you're not keen on Snape!"

"Sorry, Ron, I've never lied to you and I won't start now."

"But – but why?"

Snape answered for her.

"Because loving doesn't come by choosing, Mr Weasley. And neither of us has a heart of stone."

**A/N"Serious business of kissing..." was unintentionally lifted from D.E Stevenson's "Winter and Rough Weather" but fit too well to remove. **

**If this wasn't enough for you, I highly recommend "The Moment", by Bellegeste. She's turned Snape's comment, "You were consoling Longbottom after his toad died," into an absorbing and satisfying one shot. (Spot the Varvara reference LOL.)**


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